


Life and Debt

by GoodJanet



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Homelessness, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prostitution, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme Prompt: Don’s got nothing left, so he whores himself out to all his old mistresses and colleagues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Don watches mutely as the landlord puts an eviction notice on his front door and demands the keys back.

“I need to get my suitcase,” Don says calmly.

The landlord looks angry, but allows Don back inside. He grabs his blue Samsonite suitcase and packs it with dress shirts, a set of casual clothes, underwear, tooth brush, tooth paste, hair brush, and a couple pairs of socks. He’s already wearing his watch and his shoes. Feeling sentimental, he grabs his, well, _Don’s_ lighter from his nightstand.

He can’t say that he didn’t see this coming, nor can he say he’s particularly attached to this place, but it’s discomforting not knowing where he was going to sleep tonight. Who would even want him around?

“So long,” Don says to the still-fuming landlord.

Don walks to the elevator and out the doors and into the city. Wandering, really, with no sense of purpose or direction. He savors the idea of not needing to be anywhere or be anyone. For a moment, it was freeing. And he was even able to ignore the odd looks he received, carrying that suitcase around all over creation. His feet get tired from tramping about in his dress shoes all day, and he sits down on a park bench to watch the sunset.

When the light was nothing more than an orange streak and purplish mist, Don sucks up the fact that he needs somewhere to sleep and something to eat. He’s still got some spare change in one of his pockets, and he quickly seeks out a payphone.

He hopes she’ll answer.

“Hello?”

“ _Peggy_ ,” he says with a sigh of relief.

“Don?”

He grips the phone tightly.

“It’s me.”

She sighs.

“I told you not to call me anymore.”

“I was evicted today. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don, you need help.”

“That’s why I’m calling you, sweetheart.”

“I mean professional help. From a nice facility where they help you stop drinking and fucking anyone with a pulse.”

Don looks at his hands. They’re not shaking too badly today. He guesses that’s because the adrenalin and fresh air kept it off his mind.

“You know I don’t have the money to afford that.”

She’s losing what little patience she had for him.

“Then you need to think of some alternative. Something you’re good at. Or at least something you used to be good at. People will buy anything; you told me that. I can’t believe you’re even asking.”

“Good at?” 

There wasn’t a single advertising company that didn’t have him blackballed by now. Not since he puked at a presentation for the third time that month. Even Roger had had enough of him...

“Don, I have to go. It’s getting late.”

“Peggy, wait.”

“Good-bye, Don.”

There’s a click from her end and then a monotonous dial tone.

Don hangs up the phone with a sense of resignation. There it went: his last chance to patch things up. Her words were harsh, but true, and they echo in his head.

_Something you’re good at._

_People will buy anything._

_Fucking anyone with a pulse._

He’s not pleased with the conclusion he comes to, but it’s better than nothing. His stomach growls. His last meal was at a soup kitchen two days ago. He doesn’t have any other choice.

Don picks up his suitcase again. It suddenly feels like it weighs a ton. It’s a very long walk to where he has to go, but he’s got nowhere to sleep, so it evens out.

When the madam opens the door after he gives the secret knock, she seems both happy and surprised.

“It’s been a while, hon. We thought you’d died! Who do you want tonight? Sugar? Candice?”

Candice and Sugar sound divine, but he doesn’t have the money to even get a glimpse of one tit.

“I’d love to, but I’m actually here to see if you’re hiring.”

He gives her a rueful grin, like he’s fifteen years younger and a couple hundred thousand dollars richer.

Madam Zara cups his face between her two hands, and she looks at him hard.

“That will fool the johns, but that’s not going to fool me.”

Don’s smile droops a fraction at the corners.

“Does that mean you’ll have me?”

Madam Zara shakes her head sadly. She is always surprised at the kinds of people who come to her.

“Come on. You can sleep in here.”

She takes him into an office where there is a pullout couch.

“You can leave your things here. And get a good night’s rest. You’re starting tomorrow, understand? This isn't a boarding house. Bunny will come and fill you in on the particulars tomorrow evening.”

Don sits down on the bed and immediately kicks off his shoes.

“Thank you.”

The madam shakes her head. Employing old customers? What would be next? She closes the door behind her, leaving Don alone again.

Stripped to his underclothes, Don curls up on his new bed in his new residence.

He’s just about settled into sleep when the shakes come back, and he wonders if whoring himself out will earn him enough to go to one of those facilities that Peggy mentioned.


	2. Chapter 2

Bunny is small and sweet and friendly. She's sitting at the end of the bed, wearing a red lacy thing. It's short enough that he can see her garters. It doesn't phase him. He's lived in a whorehouse before and he's frequented enough of them to not be terribly distracted.

"Set up is at five since that's when then men get off work. Ready to go by six. Once you get some regulars, you can start paying for rent and food. It might be harder for you. Men aren't always so ready to be with another man, but we get a few here and there. You're handsome enough."

Bunny gives him a once over. He can tell she's thinking hard. He wonders what she sees--or doesn't see--in him. 

"Are you queer?" she asks.

It's a fair question. He's been asked before. Guys in the army, a neighbor once, Roger on more than one occasion.

"When it suits me," he replies.

Bunny smiles.

"I see. So you swing both ways. Madam Zara can always send you to escort some ladies you know. She's done it before."

Don nods. Bunny is very knowledgeable of how this works. She must've been working here for a while then. If he tries to look at her through her make-up, he guesses her to be early thirties. What drove her here? He's curious, but he doesn't ask. It wouldn't do to scare her off. He tells himself that that's progress since ten years ago, he'd already have her naked underneath him.

"I'll do what I can."

He wonders if liquor will be provided by the house or if the johns are responsible. It's been a while since he had a drink and it's getting harder to ignore the need. The thoughts are getting louder, but no one will want to fuck a whore who seems to have lost their mind.

"Are you okay?" Bunny asks. "Are you sick?"

Don laughs. That's a relative term.

"Not in a contagious way."

She furrows her brows at him.

"But your dick works, right?"

In another life, he'd be laughing. This whole situation is absurd. He's forty-five years old and getting lessons on how to be a proper giggilo.

"Want to see for yourself?"

He can't help it. There's still a part of him that makes him want to distance himself from the pain of doing this, of even having to be here. Pretending is fun and easy and comes to him naturally. He's done it his whole life. Ever since he swapped dogtags, he's been hiding and pretending.

Bunny smiles indulgently. She's heard every line in the book fifty times each.

"I trust you, big boy."

"Suit yourself."

"Look, as long as you smile real pretty and say dirty things and stick your ass out, it'll be fine. Your handsome and you've got a nice voice and you're clean. If you play your cards right, you can save up enough to get out of here."

She says that last part like she's trying to convince herself. Don wants to believe her too.

"It's going to be okay, sweetheart," Don placates.

She smiles again, a fake sunbeam.

"Sure, sugar. Just remember the what I told you, and you and I will be outta here by Christmas."

She hustles out, and Don starts preparing himself for the night to come.


	3. Chapter 3

_If I were a girl,_ Don thinks, _I’d be doing my hair and make-up._

Instead, he’s looking at himself in the mirror in the communal bathroom on the residents' floor. He’s still got great hair, but time and abuse have done him no good. He can spot more wrinkles on his face than he ever remembers there being and more than a few grey hairs. At least his eyes don’t look bloodshot anymore. He's been wondering if he can just wait this out a few more days and rid himself of this dependency for good…or at least for now. Overall, he looks tired and worn, and there’s nothing very attractive about that. Betty did once tell him that his voice sounded raspier when he was tired. He could always use that to his advantage.

Bunny showed him where the shower was, and that had certainly helped. The shower at his most former residence was always cold, no matter how long you let the shower run. Eventually, the other poor and disgruntled renters would start banging on the door and telling him to get out so everyone else can have their turn. The warm water and nice-smelling soap was a welcome change. 

For a brief second, he had thought about using his brand new razor to finish himself off, but images of Sally, Betty, and Megan beside his casket, or worse, absent from his funeral, was enough to change his mind. Perhaps if he could cough up some of the money he owed them, then they would at least entertain the idea of talking to him. If he played his cards right, this gig would be fast, easy money. His very skill in this particular field is part of the reason for why he’s showering here instead of with one of his ex-wives or even a brand new one. 

But Don always did enjoy a good underdog story. "Underdog" was his entire life up to, and including, this point. Born in a whorehouse, rising to the top of his trade, and ending right back where he started. He would get out of this one too. That was what he did best.

Don wraps a towel around his waist and makes his way back down to his room. He passes by a few of the other girls. He doesn't know their names yet, but he smiles at them anyway.

“We’re not open for another hour,” the one in green says.

“I’m aware. That’s why I’m going back to my room to change,” Don replies. “Who are you?”

“Wait, you mean you work here?” the one in blue butts in.

Don takes it in stride.

“I know I’m good-looking, but I promise not to steal your men.”

The one in green laughs.

“Who are you?”

“Don,” he says, extending a hand. His towel slips down his hips a little, and he's quick to hike it back up. “And you are?”

“Marie. Charmed.”

Don smiles widely.

He turned to blue. “And you?”

“Nancy, but everyone calls me Big Dipper.”

“Where did you get a nickname like that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Towel Boy?”

“Fair enough.”

He notices that Marie was eyeing them—or maybe him?—during their exchange.

“Now I don’t mean to be rude to a couple of women as lovely as yourselves, but I have to get ready for tonight too.”

Don tips an imaginary hat at them, and he’s pretty sure he catches Marie hiding a smile.

When the door closes behind Don, Nancy turns to Marie.

“It’s a shame he’s a homosexual.”

Marie nods.

“Pity.”

“He’s oldish, but there’s something about him…,” Nancy trails off.

“Maybe the fact that you could see his dick sticking out from the hem of his towel the whole time.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Marie doesn’t laugh, just raises her eyebrows until a look of dawning comes across her friend’s face.

“ _No._ ”

Marie laughs, “Yes.”

“Well, Jesus, maybe having him around won’t be so bad after all.”

Marie couldn’t agree more.


End file.
